


Go to the edge of the cliff and jump off. Build your wings on the way down.

by TerusSpicyLasange



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Falls, Comfort, Crying, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Hugging, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, molting, preening, sorry im a bird nerd oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21651829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerusSpicyLasange/pseuds/TerusSpicyLasange
Summary: Crowley makes a dark discovery while preening Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 155





	Go to the edge of the cliff and jump off. Build your wings on the way down.

**Author's Note:**

> hi if u have trypophobia PLEASE!!!! do not look up molting birds or pin feathers. Not all pics are nasty (it's a normal process that all feathered creatures have to go through) but the top results on google tend to be pretty intense.   
> Also apologies for bad pacing and grammar, I only write for fun and for self indulgence lol. Not really happy with the ending, I just wanted to focus more on the actual content rather than the outro :ppp

In Crowley's opinion, wings were inconvenient. He'd happily give up the power of flight if it meant he didn't have to deal with his god damn wings. Even though he could conceal them, it didn't actually get rid of them. He could still feel the muscle, almost like a phantom limb. Whenever he had a few hours to spare, he'd usually go and fly around, hiding himself from the human eye. They ached if they didn't get used for more than a few hours. You'd think you'd get used to it after 6,000 years, but if anything, it got worse over time.

Apart from the aching, they were overly big and seemed to make Crowley ten times clumsier than normal. Having them out for more than three milliseconds meant that he was sure to find rogue feathers on his clothes for weeks. For every flight feather, there were about 20 down feathers. Molting season was a nightmare too. His wings would constantly itch and anything hitting off his pin feathers seemed to hurt more than falling all those millennia ago. He got mood swings and, frankly, felt like some silly fragile parrot. No /human/ molted. No intelligent life form molted. It was just him and the birds of the earth.

And Aziraphale, of course. But angels didn't molt. They were too perfect to molt.

Azirapahle and Crowley had become very used to relaxing their wings around each other. Crowley would often stop by the book shop and Aziraphale would close the blinds and they'd have a nice night consisting of mindless chatter and alcohol. This eventually led to Aziraphale complaining about all the keratin flakes Crowley left on the floor of the bookshop, which led to the angel insisting that he preened the demons feathers, tutting all the while.

''Seriously my dear, you should take better care of these! You only get one pair without having to fill in all that dreadful paperwork.''  
''It's molting season! It's not like I can help it!'' Crowley whined. 

Aziraphale ran his fingers through the dark flight feathers, releasing an embarrassing amount of white dust from the old casings of long grown feathers. Crowley shuddered, holding back a groan. ''How in the world are you so good at this?'' He sighed, his wings leaning into the touch instinctively. 

''I'm not doing anything extraordinary, you just haven't been preening yourself.'' Azirapahle said dismissively. Crowley chuckled at the statement. ''God knows what gunk is hiding under your feathers, angel.'' He teased. Aziraphale took offence. ''Unlike you, I don't need preening! And I assure you that there is no /gunk/ under my feathers. I take very good care of them.'' He said, ruffling the demons feathers once more, releasing even more dust and forcing a groan out of the redheads mouth. Both stopped moving at the sound. There was a moment of silence, then Crowley jumped up off the couch.

''ALRIGHT- enough of this bullshit! 's your turn!'' He yelled, sitting back down behind the angel this time, waiting for a small nod of agreement before touching the white feathers. 

Crowley had to admit, there was little to no gunk underneath Aziraphale's feathers at all. Some bits of random fluff or crumbs here and there but ultimately, nothing of note. Azirapahle had gotten awfully comfortable during this process though, leaning onto Crowley, head resting on the demons shoulder. After coming to the conclusion that there wasn't really any need for preening, he noticed how the angels breathing had fallen into a soft rhythm and heard a whistle of sorts coming from his throat. He had fallen asleep. In all his years, he had never once saw Aziraphale asleep. He wasn't even sure if Aziraphale had tried sleep all this time, but now here he was, snoring. 

Crowley continued to play with the feathers, admiring Gods' work. Despite his love of sleep, for once, he found himself unable to slip into the voluntary unconsciousness. He started thinking out loud, imagining that Azirapahle was wide awake. It made him brave.

''I regret falling.'' He sighed. ''I should have just trusted what my superiors told me. Shouldn't have questioned things. It'd be nice to still be an angel. Not having to preen my wings, not having superiors that stink of rotting corpses...'' He looked Aziraphales' peaceful face. ''Still being lovable, through and through.''

Crowley wanted to carry on, but he was making himself more sad than he wanted to be. He focused on the white wings in front of him. He ran his hands along the arch at the top of one of the wings. He went along the grain first, then against it. Suddenly, he felt something prickly on his palm and Aziraphale jumped awake with a yelp.

''What'd you do that for?!'' The angel yelled, stretching the hurt wing around him and rubbing the arch where Crowley had hurt.  
''Do what?'' He asked. ''Angel, theres something caught in your feathers.''

Aziraphale turned back around and asked Crowley to find out what it was that was caught. It wasn't all that hard to find, the dark black against the snow white. Crowley swallowed hard, not knowing how to tell Aziraphale.

''It's a pin feather.'' He said softly. Aziraphale didn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation. ''Oh. Well that's awfully strange. Maybe I just damaged one and it fell out, nothing to worry about, surely!'' He pulled a fake smile, hoping for Crowley to leave it at that, but he obviously had something more to say.

''It's black.''

Aziraphale's smile faltered ever so slightly. ''Alright, well, I must be getting on with my work now. Order some more stock, sort out my accounts, I'm sure you're aware of all of this by now. Thank you very much for your company, Crowley dear, but you must be on your way, ta-ta!'' He said quickly, pushing Crowley out of the door before he could even mutter a word.

Crowley grabbed onto the old doorframe, embedding his sharp nails into the wood, keeping him in place. ''Angel, I'm not stupid!'' he yelled. ''Whatever you're planning on doing, I'm not letting you do it alone! If you end up falling and getting taken to hell, I'll never bloody find you! Just let me stay, I won't let you go through this on your own! You go down there, you'll be made an outcast. No ones fallen in millennia, angel. You won't be able to handle it.''

Crowley's glasses had fallen off during the struggle between him and Aziraphale. The falling angel looked into his eyes. He couldn't say no. He softly pulled away from Crowley and walked back into the bookshop. ''I'm contacting the Metatron.'' He sighed. ''Go hide somewhere, anywhere. If he sees you, he'll probably send Gabriel to kill me again.''

Crowley grabbed the throw on one of the couches and lied flat, covering himself in a crude attempt to blend in with the scenery. He heard Aziraphale move the rug that had been hiding the summoning circle and light a number of candles. He then heard the angle mutter a prayer softly. A great light shined through the throw.

''Ah, Aziraphale of the Eastern Gate.''  
''M-Metatron. It's a pleasure to see you.''

There was a long silence.

''Uhm, I was just wondering if you knew anything about my, oh how do you say... status? As an angel? You see, I've found a black pin feather in my wings. I've never even molted before.''   
''Oh well, Aziraphale. You thought you were very clever, didn't you! Thinking we wouldn't find out about your sneaky body switch with a demon.''

Crowley's blood went cold.

''See, we originally thought you had just gone native, we were prepared to leave you be for the rest of eternity, unbothered. But now that we know you're a traitor to The Almighty, well, we can't be having that now, can we?''  
''Hm. Yes, I... I suppose so.'' Crowley knew by the tone of his voice, that Aziraphale didn't know how to respond.  
''But I must ask, what exactly will they do with me once I've fallen completely?''  
''Ask you're little demonic comrade on the sofa over there. It's not like Hell is fighting to get you, we just want you off our hands, frankly.''

Crowley pulled the throw off of himself and sat up. ''How the fuck did he know I was there?'' He said, louder than he intended to be.  
''Crowley! Language!'' Aziraphale hissed. The demon shrugged in return. Not like either of them were really going to be punished.

''I wouldn't worry if I were you though, Aziraphale.'' Metatron spoke. ''The Almighty is being kind to you, even after your betrayal to her. You will simply molt and, eventually, the Holy Spirit will leave you. Somehow, she valued you as an angel despite your incompetence.'' Aziraphale pulled a painfully fake smile at the backhanded compliment. ''This will be the last time you should avail of any of heavens' services, Aziraphale. Should we come across you trying to contact us or enter head office, well... You'd better hope that no one has Holy Water at hand. Farewell.'' And like that, Metatron was gone and the great light faded into darkness.

Aziraphale fell to his knees, a vacant expression on his face. Crowley softly approached him, kneeling down and putting a hand on the soon-to-be-demons' shoulder. ''I'm so sorry, angel.'' He said softly, regretting it the moment he spoke. Aziraphale lifted his head to look at Crowley, his face scrunched up, holding back the tears. He didn't seem to have heard the demons remark. ''I did so much for them, Crowley. The amount of people I let them kill, all the times I almost got discorperated, all the times I almost got killed! I cared about this planet so much that I refused to let it get destroyed, and this is how I'm repaid. God couldn't possibly be capable of love. Not if she treats me like this.'' He let his head fall and covered his face with his hands as he sobbed. 

It wasn't an angelic cry, a soft weep with a single tear falling down the blonde's cheek. It was a human cry, an ugly cry. He was left gasping for breath as each sob made his body shake. He wouldn't take his hands away from his face, letting the emptiness within him over take him. 

A sudden thrashing came from behind a bookshelf and both of them looked up, Aziraphale still crying. A white bird flew around the bookshop, panicked. Crowley could hear Aziraphale try to speak through the sobs. 

''No... D-don't...''

The bird headed for a large window. Crowley quickly looked away, not wanting to see the bird kill itself. Instead, he heard a loud crash and looked back up to find the window shattered, and a soft silhouette flying up into the night sky. Crowley watched as Aziraphale's cries stopped for a short moment. His eyes grew even wider and his face filled with even more dread. He let out a gut wrenching scream, becoming uncontrollable. 

Crowley tried to console him by putting his arm around his shoulders. Instead, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the demon's shoulders in a forceful hug, almost like he was holding onto him for dear life. Crowley started stroking the short, blonde curls in a weak attempt to comfort him. Aziraphale's cries grew ear-piercing, and he started to hit Crowley's back with his curled fists to try and let out some of the panic running through his veins. Crowley didn't know Aziraphale had that kind of strength in him, it hurt with each strike but he knew it wasn't intentional, he didn't even know if Aziraphale knew it was Crowley who was holding him. 

He let out quiet shh's and softly kissed his cheek. The hitting stopped, shortly followed by the crying. Aziraphale's arms hung at his sides. His hands were resting on the floor, but most of his weight was put onto Crowley. Crowley continued to stroke his hair and kiss his cheek until Aziraphale pulled away. His eyes were bloodshot and his nose was running. Crowley quickly summoned a box of tissues and handed them to him. After a few minutes, Aziraphale spoke.

''She's left me.'' He said, defeatedly. ''There's nothing there anymore... I feel empty.'' He looked up at Crowley desperately. ''Is this how it's meant to feel?''

'They're suddenly very eager to be rid of him, now' Crowley thought bitterly. He didn't know how to answer. He'd spent longer as a demon than as an angel, and it was all so long ago. He remembered that empty feeling, but it was his angel that replaced it. He put his hand on Aziraphale's shoulder. ''It dulls over time.''

Crowley helped Aziraphale to bed, who refused to sleep unless Crowley promised to stay with him until morning. Of course, he obliged, and Crowley spent the night holding Aziraphale, who finally got some proper rest after 6,000 years. The two slept well into the afternoon, since they had stayed up so late after finding the pin feather. Crowley awoke at exactly 3.47pm to yet another gut wrenching scream. 

Aziraphale sat infront of his full length mirror, looking up and begging for The Almighty to forgive him. His wings were now full of black, spiky pin feathers. Not one white feather remained. In fact, most of them were on Crowley's shirt. He quickly dusted them off himself and ran over to console him. 

''Azira-'' Crowley was taken aback when Aziraphale looked up at him. His perfect, ocean blue eyes suddenly had slit pupils and the soft flecks of gold had turned into large amber spots. ''Oh angel, I...'' Crowley really didn't know what to say. ''Don't call me that.'' Aziraphale said softly. ''I'm not an angel anymore. Look at me. No angel looks like this.'' He said, pulling his knees up to his chest. ''Hey, no,'' Crowley spoke softly, lifting Aziraphales' chin up so they could make eye contact.

''I don't care what some 'almighty' thinks. You're still my angel. You're still the one sheltered me from the rain back in Eden, who gave me holy water when you thought I was going to use it as an easy way out. For hell's sake angel - you helped to save the world, not because you had orders to, but because you loved it and everyone on it. You're better than any of those bastards upstairs. Black wings and snake eyes don't change that.'' Aziraphale had bed head and his eyes were still red and puffy from the night before. In his eyes, he looked a mess. In Crowley's eyes, he was still as beautiful as ever.

Crowley moved his hand from Aziraphales' chin up to cup his cheek. Aziraphale placed his own hand atop of Crowley's and kissed his palm, silent tears falling down his cheeks. Crowley placed Aziraphale back onto the bed and got a basin of hot water and a wash cloth. He soaked the spiky wings to try and open up the pores in the skin and to soothe the tender muscle. Once Aziraphale was nice and relaxed, Crowley summoned a soft hairbrush made with horse hair and started softly brushing the pin feathers, some of keratin sheathes coming off to reveal glossy black feathers. Crowley had to admit that, even though he was fallen, Aziraphale's feathers were still beautiful. 

They stayed in bed and cuddled for a bit longer. Aziraphale was staring into the distance. ''You alright?'' Crowley said softly. ''You know, my dear... I'm awfully hungry now that I think about it.'' The both of them smiled. Crowley got up to go make some crepes, or at least, attempts of crepes. As he watched Aziraphale eat, commenting on how 'delectable' the thin pancakes were, Crowley knew that everything would be just fine.


End file.
